


On Your Own

by catcusxx



Category: Famous Five - Enid Blyton
Genre: (i think), Aged-Up Character(s), Alcohol, And Timmy, And then hopefully fix them again, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anne Kirrin has died, But mostly for messing things up, Camping, F/F, F/M, George is confused, Hurt/Comfort, Im here to mess things up, Jo is less confused, Orignial Characters - Freeform, but they gay, where it suits me
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-29
Updated: 2019-08-29
Packaged: 2020-07-23 12:38:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20008429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catcusxx/pseuds/catcusxx
Summary: Meddling kids don't always get off scot-free.(in which we see the remaining three deal with the aftermath of an adventure gone wrong)





	1. Chapter 1

Dick Kirrin didn't jump to get up when the train stopped at Kirrin station. He'd been there so many summers that the few hours it took to get there didn't feel too long or too short, though this train ride it had been for sure too silent. Beside him, his brother Julian folded and stowed away the newspaper Dick doubted he'd been reading. He couldn't blame him, really; the whole train ride his own eyes had skimmed over his adventure novel. Blocking out incessant chatter was easy, blocking out silence was less so.  
George was waiting for them outside the train in the pony trap. She looked as boyish as ever, with her tumbled black hair and narrowed blue eyes. She looked older now, and there was no Timmy at her feet now.   
Julian was fresh out of high school and would begin applying to universities, though from the lecture he'd gotten at home his grades had been less than perfect. Dick eyed his brother as stepped off the train in front of an old lady. Lately Julian himself had been less than perfect, but apparently six months was long enough to get over the death of a sibling, and after this holidays, where the two of them had been packed off to the Kirrin's for 'fresh air', the two of them would be expected to behave normally once again.  
"Hallo Julian, hi Dick! How was the train?" George asked.   
"Quiet," Julian said abruptly, and then seemed to catch himself for he pasted a grin on and said - "but Mother packed us tea."   
"We'll have no appetite for a while yet." Dick added, hauling his trunk into the carriage.   
"How do you both feel about carnival food later on then?" George asked, "there's a circus in town, Jo's there."   
"I thought Jo was living with that friend of Joan's?" Dick said.   
"She's seventeen, that's old enough to decide for herself what she wants to do." George said.   
"Trouble with Aunt Fanny?" Dick asked.  
George just shrugged, her mouth set in a stubborn line. "Buck up, I want to get there before dark so we can look at the side shows as well."   
The carriage rattled down the gravel road. It was late summer, so the sun shone brightly in a way Dick felt it shouldn't. He wanted winter storms and harsh rain and howling wind. The sky should be grey and dreary, the waves crashing instead of shushing at shore. Anne would have said the deep blue sky looked like it'd been freshy washed and hung out to dry, or perhaps that it was cornflower blue. Her voice was too easy to conjure up. Dick couldn't enjoy the sun warming his skin or the gentle breeze the way he should've.   
Kirrin island came into view, the wreck of a castle perched atop its scrubby hills. He imagined it'd feel more like a ghost town now than ever before, and far too still. There would be so many rabbits - without Timmy to chase them away. The place was for the five of them. Dick glanced at George, who was holding the reins, her knuckles white, and Julian, who's expression was as absent as ever. There was too much missing - from their group and from them.   
The silence was still there at the circus. It was as loud and busy as could be expected, but where was there to go without Anne dragging them to see the monkeys or get candy floss? Dick found his eyes drifting to the interesting characters around him instead, as Julian and George talked occasionally.   
He loved people watching as he'd once loved bird watching. He looked for plumage; colourful, drab, worn, crisp, new. He looked for eyes, the watery, the shifty the wide and shadowed. There was much to be understood from a persons appearance and he was shrewd. Richer in circumstance, he'd often thought, was poorer in soul.   
There! There was something familiar about the girl who walked towards them. Her hair was longer now, and unlike George the clothes she wore showed her shape underneath, but for all she'd grown it was obvious who she was.   
"Jo!" George hailed.   
Dick shot her a funny look. He hadn't thought George would ever really be happy to see Jo, though they'd overcome their differences, but she was smiling widely. Jo skipped lightly over, grinning back.   
"You're all just in time. I've got to be in the big tent soon - but how're you liking it?" She looked at Dick and tugged the ribbon in her hair. Her grin became lopsided.   
"It's hectic." Julian said, "like a bit of the city out here."   
"I don't know a city where you'd find monkey's," Dick quipped.   
"There are lot's of 'em, if you look carefully." Julian said, tugging one side of his shirt free from his shorts. The sky was darkening and Dick imagined he was looking at a stranger.   
"That's rather rude, golden boy." Jo said, "come on, I'll show you some real monkeys."   
"Can you talk to them like you did-" George paused, swallowed- "like you do dogs?"   
"'Course! I can speak everything... Except French." Jo decided.   
She led them through the maze of coloured tents. Though she wore a dress her feet were bare, and she picked her way over the tent strings with ease. She showed them the monkeys, acting with no hesitation as she handled them. When they watched the actual circus, looking for her from afar, she filled the stage with confidence and presence. She was so at home in the circus Dick wondered how she'd looked at her foster home with her hair tied back sensibly and wearing some dull, school uniform. She must've wilted. He couldn't even imagine her several years ago with bruises speckling her arms and dirt caking her face.  
It hadn't been setting which hurt her then, but circumstance.   
Under the colourful, tinted lights of the tent George looked the most attentive he'd ever seen her. Her eyes were so wide her lashes touched her brow bone, and the spotlight reflected from her large pupils. Julian was just silent. When he thought no one was watching he caved in on himself. His brows drew together and his smile slipped away and his mask cracked. Dick didn't want to know where his thoughts went, probably because they'd mirror his own.   
His fault that Anne had died.   
His fault that she'd died alone.   
His fault that even in death, surely, she was still afraid.   
The music reached a crescendo. He'd lost the story somewhere, amongst the dancing and the colours and the flashing lights. It was chaos, with no real plot, no real purpose.   
Everyone around he, Julian, and George, stood up and begun to clap and cheer. Somehow, their excitement, their joy, bypassed them both. There was a whole storm of movement and emotions and they were in the eye of it. Even though Dick should have been able to feel the high winds buffeting him, he was in a void. Fingernails dug into his palms - his own. They were jagged and sharp from nights of chewing at them. He didn't feel it the crescent moon grooves in his palms, but he unclenched his fists, stood up, and clapped with the crowd.   
Jo met them outside the tent when the show was over. She still wore stage makeup. Her freckles were covered with powder and her lips were crimson and still smiling. In one hand she held a bottle.   
"Celebrate?" she offered.   
"Celebrate what?" George asked, wrinkling her nose.  
Jo shrugged, "if we can't celebrate, we can mourn," she said, "people don't need a reason to drink. Come on, you can meet my friends."   
She led them away from the part of the circus people visited. Dick could have drawn a line between the living area and the sideshows; suddenly it was darker and smelt like cigarette smoke instead of popcorn. There were caravans instead of tents, with peeling, colourful paint. They came upon the light of a campfire which crackled cheerfully. There were a few people sitting around it and none looked surprised to see them when they sat down beside Jo.  
"You brought some posh friends," said a girl around Julian's age. There was a child curled up on one knee, who was watching the fire with wide brown eyes.   
"Yeah, from the city." Jo said, "parent's packed them off to boarding school - this is Ida, by the way, she's on the trapeze."  
Ida grinned at them and blocked the child's ears, "damn good at it too, I was the one in blue."  
Dick did not remember her but he nodded a long.   
"So how'd you know old Jo then?"   
"I bet Dick in a stone spitting competition when I was twelve," Jo said, elbowing him in the ribs.   
"Sounds about right. You folk think you can do everything, huh?" Ida said, grinning again. Her two eyeteeth were sharp but the real barbs were in her words.   
Julian had leaned forwards, "isn't there something to be said for education?" he asked.   
"Your education system is nothing but listening to the ideas and ideals of others. Your answers are only right if someone else has already written it." Ida said, an eyebrow cocked.  
Dick watched from the side-lines. Ida had tawny brown skin and a halo of black hair which bounced as she moved - and she was always moving. Even as she spoke to Julian her fingers illustrated her speech and her lashes fluttered. The only still part of her was the leg where the child dozed. He saw a kinda of bitterness in her, as she spoke of the upper classes, though her tone was light.  
"-should privilege afford better living conditions? Should race? Should sex?" She was saying.   
Dick turned to look at George and Jo. The two had once been so similar, but now Jo was full of fire and George was smothered and smouldering. It was like her lungs were chocked with smoke, Dick thought. Something thick and dark and choking.   
Julian slipped a cardboard box from his pocket and stuck a cigarette in his mouth.   
Ida stood and scooped the child up in her arms, "don't look so dejected," she said, "I'll just put her to bed." She winked and then disappeared off.  
"You know those are bad for you," Dick said to Julian as he lit the cigarette. The box was new, so either Julian had gotten one specially for the holiday or smoked frequently. Dick had thought he'd smelt tobacco when Julian had come home.   
"They've been encouraged for years," Julian said, inhaling. Dick watched as the end of the cigarette shone. "Soldiers were given them during the last World War." At his exhale smoke fanned out around them.   
"And their enemies used the glowing ends for target practice." Dick muttered. There had been no reasoning with Julian recently. It was like he was blind to those around him; how Father had wilted when she'd seen his final results, how Mother's face had fallen when she'd seen the shadows under his eyes, how Dick was waiting for him to be someone he could talk to again.  
Julian flicked the ash of the end of the cigarette. His movements were practiced and the ash drifted to the ground like snow. Dick absentmindedly dug his fingernails into the palm of his hand again. Perhaps he shouldn't worry about the alcohol, about the smoke. Pain was a part of culture. Pain was feeling.   
Ida sat back down and delicately plucked the cigarette from Julian's mouth. She took a drag, ignoring Julian's offer of another one.   
"You can have it back," she said, her eyes becoming focused on the flickering light at the end. It was a single, stuttering star, in a sky filled with smog.   
"What was the point then?" Julian asked.   
Ida shrugged, "what's the point of smoking? Its a pathetic attempt to feel older. You want to be an adult, don't you?"   
"I am." Julian said shortly.   
Dick watched as Ida grinned again. She was unpicking his brother at the seams and he watched in silent curiosity, as if to see what she would unravel from him.   
"You don't feel it, do you? You thought adults would be more sure of themselves, not feel so..." she made a chaotic gesture.   
Dick saw from the corner of his eye, Julian's hands clench into fists. "What could you know that I don't?" He asked harshly.   
"Are we back to the education thing?"   
"You console yourself with arrogance, but you know nothing more of this world than I." Julian said.   
"We've both seen very different parts of it. Tell me, have the visions of your youth been cracked yet?"   
"Shattered." He spat, and stood up.   
"Play nice." Jo cut in. Her eyes were hooded and relaxed, her hand on George's arm.   
"I think we'd best be going home." Dick said, "you should visit some time."   
"We're here for a while longer," Jo said, taking a swig from the bottle. "You get home safely, I'll be 'round." She patted George's arm and then moved to sit by Ida.   
-  
Even in the dark Kirrin cottage was exactly how Dick remembered it. There was a light on in the kitchen, and one in Uncle Quentins study. That light never seemed to go out, and it was a welcoming sight.   
He glanced apprehensively at Julian and hoped he would say nothing to Aunt Fanny. There was no time to talk to him, no words to say, as George let them in and slipped her shoes off. There was a whine, and Dick found himself looking for Timmy, but no, on the ground at George's feet was a small, delicate creature, with eyes just as big and loving.   
"Her name is Ruby. Joan named her." George said shortly after following Dicks gaze.  
The puppy gazed up at them with big, sad eyes. George shooed her away.   
"You aren't going to take her upstairs?" Julian asked.   
Apparently that was the wrong thing to say.   
"Father got her because he wants me to replace Timmy. I think he's an idiot to try that. He doesn't even like dogs - and this ones stupid." Ruby waved her little tail uncertainly. "Go bother Joan or something." George hissed.   
The puppy whined but George swept passed it. The boys could hear her heavy footsteps all the way upstairs.   
There was a tentative paw on Dicks leg and he looked down at the dog, still vying for attention. Uncle Quentin must have been very worried about George to buy her a dog. It hadn't been the right thing to do, but it'd been an attempt. After Anne's death, Dick had learned that adults were no more sure than children were. He'd learned it again when his parent's tried to comfort him.   
When he shut the door to the hall upstairs, he could hear the puppy whining and scratching at it. Dick had never thought of love as a limited resource, but he realised he had none for the dog.   
He wanted Timmy, he thought as he flopped down on the bed he and Julian always stayed in. He wanted to be eleven again and he wanted Anne there. He didn't know when his brain had started running him in circles like this, but he didn't know how to make it stop. He lay there in bed, watching the shadows of tree branches waver in the moonlight.   
The world was still spinning and Dick could not move with it.


	2. Chapter 2

George was used to the feeling of gasping for air by now. Once upon a time it was because a too-large dog slept on her chest, compressing her lungs and filling her nose with the comforting, musky scent of her pet - her friend. It had been a nice kind of suffocation.  
Now she woke up with her heart racing in her chest and sweat beading on her forehead. She woke up with her eyes wide, searching in the dark for something until finally she could make out the light which crept in around her curtains. A single gunshot rang in her ears. A scream.  
Her dreams were never right. The timing was off. She could see what was happening. She could feel blood spatter across her cheeks. Sometimes it was her blood instead of Timmy's. Her blood instead of Anne's. She'd learned not to trust the mellow clouds and nice days those dreams begun in.  
It was hard, with those thoughts playing cat and mouse in her head, to be grateful that she was still alive.  
Often they weren't even underground in those dark, dank tunnels. They would be camping, or shopping, or at home in the kitchen, when everything flew out of place. It was a horrible kind of survivors guilt.  
George sat up and ran her fingers through her hair. She huffed scornfully and swung her legs onto the floor. The tiling was cold and she swayed a little when she stood. She hadn't had much alcohol, but she'd never drank before. One of the girls at the boarding house had smuggled in a bottle of wine, it'd been watery and cheap and George hadn't felt much of anything when she took a swig.  
Her thoughts drifted, as they always did when she was intoxicated. She thought back to Tommy, the guy who'd liked her - the way he'd looked at her, and told her that she wasn't like other girls. George had been angry then; she'd always been angry about a lot of things, but this had made her blood boil.  
"You climb trees..." he'd said, "you know how to sail and - and tie knots. Other girls can't do that, they just sit around and sew things. They're all the same and you..."  
She'd cut him off them, with a solid punch to his overconfident face. It was the sort of anger she'd always felt, because the root of the issue was not that George thought girls were stupid, but that everyone else did.  
She'd been angry at herself, too. She'd never in a million years like a boy like him, and yet there was Alf, from the village, with his gentle smile and the fingers which could belong to a pianist but for their callouses. He'd placed those fingers under her chin and tilted her head upwards so she had to meet those sea green eyes.  
He never kissed her, perhaps a part of him knew that wasn't what she wanted, but there was hope in his eyes.  
George thought of Paige from the boarding house, how she'd wanted to hold her hand, to kiss her.  
There was some, strange difference between platonic and romantic emotions. Some subtle difference between looking into the eyes of someone you liked romantically and someone you liked platonically.  
George would die for Alf but she couldn't for a moment fool herself into thinking she wanted him, or any man, as anything more than a friend.  
She thought of Jo. The line between platonic and romantic blurred a little more. They'd always clashed, but now she didn't have the energy to keep up with her - she could only watch Jo - the way the firelight danced on her skin and in her eyes.  
Then she thought of her Father. He scoffed scornfully when he read the news - read about free love and the cultural revolution. His words about the indecency of it all cut deep into George, that girls couldn't, and shouldn't, like other girls. He didn't know that he was hurting her, but she was caught in the crossfire of a generational war. She'd gone to the movies with her friends from the boarding house before - she knew how the romance between a man and a woman was meant to unfold, and the stubborn, childlike, part of her, knew it should be the same between two woman, yet those same feelings were accompanied with something fearful and sickly.  
If Anne were here George would tell her. Anne had always seemed to understand these things. They used to stay up late into the night, just talking. The world had never been in black and white to Anne. She'd seen good in every person. That was the reason she'd hated their adventures - because they revealed bad people to her.  
-  
"Dick doesn't talk much anymore, does he?" Jo asked quietly.  
They were together again, sitting around a campfire with a tent pitched on the moor. Jo and Ida had joined them and George wasn't sure it was a curse of a blessing. The three of them alone, however, would probably self destruct. Dick had gone off alone with an old notebook in hand. Julian was as distracted as ever, with his cigarettes and whatever else he was taking. George didn't want to think about the path of self-destruction he was going down - that they were all going down. Sometimes she was envious of his sleepy, blissfully ignorant eyes.  
"He does," George defended. Out of all of them, Dick seemed perhaps the most normal.  
"Yes, but he doesn't really mean anything. He's like the conductor of a circus - he's acting, he's fooling the audience."  
"Why are we the audience? We're his family." George said, clenching her fists. There wasn't even the three of them left, really, not when they weren't on the same side.  
"Well - you aren't exactly the kind of people to confide in right now, are you? Don't look at me like that, Ida saw it straight away. The others, they probably realise that it's not right to put more on you when you already have so much on your mind."  
George sprang up, "there's nothing wrong with us!" She protested.  
"I didn't say there was - but - well... I know we didn't ever get along when we were younger, but we're similar, you and I. Hush, you know I climbed that tower to save you, not Dick. I was jealous you had such a loving family, but I've built one now, so I suppose we stand on equal ground."  
"You don't know what it's like - to loose a sister, to - to be... You don't know any of it!"  
"You're being a little presumptuous, don't you think?" Ida said from where she sat across from them.  
But Jo didn't look angry, but her hands, previously neatly folded on her lap, were now in front of her face as she dug dirt out from under her fingernails.  
"We've all known loss, by now, George," she said, "so you needn't feel defensive."  
A gale of laughter rose from beside her. Ida stood up with a feline grace, her hand in Julian's. Jo smirked as she led him away. She and George were alone.  
The crackling of the fire became the only noise between them but George could hear her heartbeat, felt it pounding in her ears. It was as if she'd been running, faster than she ever had before, and yet now was standing still, shaking in exhaustion as the adrenaline faded.  
"I truly am sorry," Jo said, "but I figure you've heard that enough. You know, she would be happy you were still alive. She would be happy."  
"But I'm not happy." George said. "I'm not and I wish I was, but I just can't be."  
"It's not just Anne, is it?" Jo asked.  
"Just? Anne was so much more than we gave her credit for. I always said she was just a baby, that she spent too much time with her dolls and her paints, but she was the one which kept us all going, which taught us that even the bad guys aren't unforgivable."  
Except for the ones that'd killed her, George thought silently, her hands clenching.  
Jo opened her mouth - then closed it again. George was left wanting for her words. Jo wasn't the kind to give empty words of comfort, but George was starting to think even those would be good to hear - coming from her, at least.  
But Jo was undeniably down to earth, and so she shrugged, "there are some people that are - perhaps they aren't all bad, but they're unforgivable. Anne would understand that - and she knew you didn't think any less of her."  
George sighed and felt her shoulders fall. "I just... I miss her - I miss the way things used to be. Things got confusing and we all grew up and suddenly we're more lost than we ever were during an adventure."  
"And more alone," Jo added, a small, bittersweet smile twisting her lips.  
She curled her fingers around George's arm, pulled her down to sit beside her. George bowed her head. Jo smelt like sweat and musk, a heady cloying smell. Fingers wound through her hair. Jo's eyes were surprisingly gentle.  
"But we aren't." She said. "Remember we aren't really alone."  
"Julian and Dick-" George paused, her throat catching. She didn't want to cry - she'd cried enough and the burning in her tear ducts hadn't done anything to relieve the burning in her heart.  
"They feel like you do," Jo said, "Ida - she'd better at this sort of thing, but she could tell you they felt the same way you did. And she could tell you it gets better."  
"I don't want her - can you tell me? Does it get better? It's been so long."  
Jo's hands left her hair and she shuffled closer to George, by her side now. George found herself leaning into Jo's arms, her eyes drifting closed.  
"Of course it does. Of course."  
And the silence wore on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was gonna be short but looks like we're gonna scrap the plan and see where this takes us


End file.
